


spun gold

by lemoncheerios



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Consent, F/M, Hotel Sex, Luke's boots, New York City, POV Second Person, Smut, Snark, drunk, golden boy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncheerios/pseuds/lemoncheerios
Summary: You get too drunk, and puke on Luke Hemmings’ boots.





	spun gold

You didn’t expect much out of the night when your friends dragged you out to this shitty club in Brooklyn. You’d had big plans to hide away in your Airbnb, binging Netflix and eating the best takeout you could find while they made bad decisions alone. 

Instead, you found yourself perched on a wobbly stool at a dirty bar and downing another (how many was that?) drink. It could be worse, you supposed as the ice cubes swirled lazily in the nearly empty glass, at least the music was pretty alright. Your friends were having fun and you were content to sit on this very stool all night. 

At least, you were until you had to pee. Squinting over the heads of the patrons and the acrid cloud of smoke, you could just make out the neon sign that indicated the bathrooms across the club. You sighed as you slid off the stool, noting how far down the floor seemed. You could have sworn it was much closer when you got here. And this ground was so uneven, you lamented as you tried to side step someone who was standing right in your way. He didn’t move and you ran into him instead, muttering an excuse me as you continued toward the bathroom. You ran into three people before it dawned on you that maybe the floor was fine, and these people weren’t intentionally in your way. Maybe you were a little (okay, a lot) drunker than you’d thought.  
Oh well, not much you could do about it now so you shrugged and continued the endless trek across the little club to the bathrooms. 

By the time you made it through the door with the glowing sign, the room was spinning a little and you sank back against it, squeezing your eyes shut as you willed the room to be still for just a moment. It did not obey, and you were pleading with your stomach to stop pitching forward like that when you heard a voice. 

Sounded like a guy’s voice, but why was there a guy in the lady’s room?

“You alright?” the voice asked, but you didn’t reply. You couldn’t unless you wanted to risk losing this battle of wills with the stomach you’d plied with too much alcohol and not enough dinner. 

“Hey.. are you okay?” the voice was closer now, and it was definitely a guy. He had a light accent that lilted the corners of his vowels, making his deep voice feel soft and friendly. So friendly that you didn’t even jump when he reached out and put a hand on your cheek. 

You swallowed past a lump of regret and alcohol in your throat and managed to force out, “I’m fine” in a voice that didn’t sound like yours at all. 

“Can you look at me?” the mysterious man asked, and in that moment you sensed two things: he was deeply concerned for your wellbeing, and you were not going to win this battle of wills. 

Your eyes shot open, shaking your head an emphatic no as you pushed at his chest, trying to push him away from you so you could stumble to your feet and lose your dignity into the toilet. But when you pushed, it was like pushing a brick wall. He didn’t move and the force of your effort cemented your defeat as you spilled the contents of your stomach all over his shiny black boots. 

He didn’t recoil, and only reached forward to gently lift your hair from your face as best he could from the angle he was at. 

When your stomach was empty and the room stopped spinning, you pressed your eyes shut once more but this time instead of willing the room to still, you wished you could just melt into the floor and away from this poor stranger. Several moments passed before he risked asking, “Feel better?” 

You nodded miserably, looking up to meet his eyes for the first time. You would have gasped if your throat weren’t so raw. He had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen and looked unnervingly familiar. Golden curls framed high cheekbones and full lips, and he wore a sympathetic smile. Or maybe that was a pity smile. You couldn’t be too sure. 

You probably should have led with gratitude, or an apology for his ruined boots. Instead, you croaked, “What are you doing in the ladies?” 

A laugh bubbled from his chest and it was soft and melodic like a child’s. It sounded like heaven in contrast to the grating tin of the concert going on on the other side of the door you still leaned against. 

“I’m not,” he smiled, a dimple breaking the smooth surface of one cheek and brightening his features even more, “This is the men’s room.” 

You wished again that quicksand was real, and the floor was made of it. You tried to think of a quick witted reply, but settled for, “oh” when none came. 

“Are you here with anyone?” he asked, still crouched on the floor in front of you, seemingly unbothered by his ruined boots. 

You nodded, moving gingerly to pull your phone from your back pocket only to find a text from your friends in the group chat:

**|| We left, this club sucks.**

An address was attached to another club, but before you could commit it to memory, your phone chimed an ominous low battery warning and powered off. You couldn’t stop the tears that rushed to your eyes, and they began to fall before you could look away from the blue eyed stranger. 

He held out his phone to you, but the tears only increased to wails when you realized you didn’t remember any of your friends’ phone numbers. He was quiet for only a moment before shrugging, seemingly more to himself than to you, as he spoke again, “Well I can’t just leave you here. I need new shoes, and you need a charger so why don’t you come back to my hotel with me and we can take care of both?”

“This sounds like the start of a predictable horror film,” you hiccuped through your tears but you were also nodding as you accepted the hand he held out and let him tug you to your feet. When you were finally standing you met his eyes, “If you’re going to murder me, could you just go ahead and put me out of my misery?”

His eyes widened in surprise but he recovered quickly, grinning as he quipped, “ I think I’m good on bodily fluids. These boots are already a loss, but this is my favorite jacket.” He tugged his phone from sain jacket pocket, firing off a couple texts before he reached out to you again, hand coming to rest in the middle of your back as both a guide and support. 

“You ready?” he asked, one hand on the handle of the door. You shook your head and he laughed, “Don’t worry, we can go out the back. My car’s right there anyway.”

You nodded gratefully, but didn’t think to question how he could go out the back. That was mostly unsurprising since you also hadn’t thought to question who he was, or why he looked so familiar. 

The two of you made it through the club without incident and he settled you into the passenger seat of a well-appointed Tesla. The soft interior and smooth vibrations of the road beneath the wheels as he drove were soothing in a way that only makes sense when you’re drunk and hungover at the same time. 

Before you realize what’s happened, he’s shaking you awake from the passenger side door and in the glow of the streetlight, or maybe it’s the moonlight, his hair is lit up like a halo around his head. You can’t help yourself as your hand stretches out, catching a couple of strands and twisting them over your fingers as you murmur sleepily, “so pretty”. 

His giggle rivals the glow of his hair at the compliment as his cheeks tint pink and he holds his hands out for yours until you drop his locks and take his hands so he can carefully pull you out of the car. You lean heavily against his side as the two of you walk slowly through a too-bright lobby and ride a too-loud elevator until it stops at a too-long haul and finally you make it to the door where his key card works and all of the “too” things stop as he opens the door and you follow him inside. 

You stand awkwardly just inside the doorway, unsure of what happens next because now that you think about it, you’ve never followed a stranger back to their hotel room in a strange city. He beelines for the bathroom, and from your vantage point you can see him gently toeing off his boots. He uses a towel to lift them from the floor and drops them into the garbage can with a tiny wave as his bottom lip pokes out just a fraction. You wince, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with guilt because he just looks so sad. 

“I’m really sorry about your boots,” you tell him genuinely, “I’ll buy you new ones.” 

He doesn’t hesitate as he comes to the doorway of the bathroom and leans against the frame. His smile is soft and genuine, “Truly, don’t worry about it. I have more than enough shoes.” He seems to dismiss the notion entirely with that and a wave of his hand as he saunters toward his bag in bare feet. He tugs down the zipper of the bag, and you can’t help but notice the way the muscles of his back ripple under his t-shirt. You’d somehow missed the removal of his jacket. 

You’re so enchanted by the way his shoulders and bicep flex and roll under his skin that you don’t realize he’s spoken until you see him watching you expectantly and blush.  
“I’m sorry, come again?” you mumble, embarrassed to have been caught staring. 

“I said,” his smirk is mischievous now as he gestures toward the chair in the corner and then sweeps his arm toward the bed, “you can make yourself comfortable.”

In a bold move that’s entirely unlike your usually shy demeanor, you hold his gaze as you cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed. You’re feeling better, but still definitely drunk and in that moment you’ve decided that this is the day you’d take your New Year’s Resolution a little more seriously. You’d vowed to say yes to more things you wanted, and right now, you couldn’t think of anything you wanted more than the beautiful man in front of you. Even in the shitty hotel light, he’s practically glowing. His hair reminds you of spun gold and you wonder briefly if he’s some sort of fairytale character because real men just don’t look like this one. Maybe he isn’t even real and this is all a drunk illusion in a dirty bathroom. 

“I think…. I know you,” you say cautiously. He’s still watching curiously from across the room, and he nods. He seems unsurprised by this revelation and says nothing, but motions for you to continue. 

“Are you Rumplest.. Rumble.. Rumplestiltskin?” it takes you a few tries to get the name off your tongue that feels thick and heavy in your mouth. The look of bewilderment on his face is totally worth the struggle as he furrows his brow, mouth opening and closing several times as he tries to find the words that seem to elude him. 

“Umm.. no. No I am not.” he says, voice laced with confusion that only spurs on your internal monologue. 

“You know, the guy who spins straw into gold. Except instead of straw you’ve clearly spun your hair into gold. Or MAYBE you’re King Midas, and you just brushed it and accidentally turned it to gold.” you’re thinking out loud now, delighting in the horrified amusement on his face.  
“Ah no, to both.” he says, tugging at the locks in question as he pulls a hairband from his wrist and secures them in a knot at the nape of his neck.

With his hair pulled back, you can focus on his face now and he’s just so pretty that you can’t think straight. It’s your turn to furrow your brow as you try to focus on the conversation at hand. Obviously you knew he wasn’t any of these fairytale characters but you couldn’t shake the sense of something achingly familiar about him. If you could just get your vodka-soaked brain to focus. On who he was and how you might know him, or even where your friends had gone. Really anything other than how much you wanted him. 

But it wouldn’t, and you couldn’t fight it so you just embraced it. You gear up to open your mouth, ready to say something that conveys your intentions but is still somehow charming and alluring. 

“Can I borrow your toothbrush? My mouth tastes like ass.” Oh good. Super charming, you think bitterly as your mouth moves faster than your mind, but he just chuckles that bright sound again and waves you toward the bathroom. He hands you a toothbrush, the phone charger and a t-shirt you didn’t see him grab, adding on that “you might need this too.” before he stepped back toward the bed and let you shut the door. 

You plug in your phone before catching a glimpse of your reflection for the first time and find yourself cringing again. You look like a mess. Your top is stained, but you don’t want to think too long about what’s on it, so you just tug it off and slip his shirt on when you’re done brushing your teeth. You take a few minutes to splash some cool water on your face and wipe away the mess of makeup that remains before finger combing your hair and opening the door with a fortifying breath. 

He’s still there and he’s still beautiful. He smiles when he sees you, appreciative gaze taking you in before he murmurs, “Shirt looks better on you than me.”

Now, you decide, is as good a time as any to shoot your shot. 

“We should have sex,” you blurt, and this time he doesn’t even look surprised at your odd declaration.He also doesn’t laugh, keeping his gaze focused on yours as he seems to assess the situation. You take a tentative step toward him, and then another when he doesn’t react. It’s only a few seconds before you’re standing directly in front of him, almost between his knees because his legs are so long. You’re anxious now, but you’ve come this far, so you rest your hands lightly on his shoulders. He hesitates only a moment before his find your waist and they’re tugging you toward him and onto his lap. You go willingly, knees settling on either side of his hips and into the soft mattress as your lips meet his and all of the uncertainty melts under the immediate heat of the kiss. 

He wastes no time skimming a palm underneath the shirt you’re wearing, as the other hand trails along your jaw until he’s cupping your head, tilting your face so he can swipe his tongue across your lips. You part them for him and he takes control of the kiss as he nips at your lower lip and your tongues find a pace that feels frenzied and electric. His hands are all over you, pushing up at your t-shirt and tugging at your hair until you arch into him until you feel the strain of his desire against you and moan into his mouth. You pull at his clothes, wanting them off and wanting to be closer as he smiles into the kiss at your eagerness before abiding your hints and losing the shirt. Yours comes off next, and then your bra until you’re chest to chest, and together you fall back onto the bed. He wastes no time flipping your position, rolling until he’s pinned you under him with a knee between your thighs and his hands by your head to keep his weight off you. A few of his golden curls have escaped the knot he tied them in and you break the kiss to lean back into the mattress and admire them before lifting your hands to touch them, running your fingers through the roots until you reach the hair band and unwind it. You’re watching his face the moment his curls tumble free and your hand wastes no time tangling in them and you see his eyes go dark with desire, lip caught between his own teeth. Then, you’re putting pressure on the roots as you grip and pulling him back down to you, kissing again as you breathe a single word against his lips, “More.” 

 

It’s his turn to break the kiss, and you whimper at the loss of contact as he rolls to his side until he’s lying next to you, fingers tracing patterns in the skin of your stomach and yours still tangled in his hair. His gaze burns into you until he squeezes his eyes shut, swearing under his breath. 

“I want to,” he mutters when he meets your eyes again, and you see his desire reflected back at you. But there’s something else too and you can’t give it a name until he says, “but I can’t.” 

Regret, you realize as frustration and disappointment rapidly cool the heat in your veins. He senses your mood shift and leans forward again, kissing your collarbone and then your throat as he speaks, “You’re still drunk, and I really wish I could feel okay about that but I don’t so ... “ he nips at your collarbone, “we can’t.” 

“I’m drunk,” you grind out, “not stupid. I want this. I want you.” You tilt your head, capturing his lips that were kissing trails across your jaw and kissing him again to try to show him that you mean it. He arches his hips into you, the bulge of his desire brushing across the curve of your hip as he growls, “Not like this.”

He reaches up to untangle your hand from his curls and tucks them neatly behind one ear before intertwining your fingers,“I can’t think when you’re doing that,”.

You smile mischievously as you snake your other hand up and into his hair again, tugging at the roots until his eyes close and his teeth sink into his bottom lip as you whisper, “Maybe I don’t want you to think.” 

You’re locked in a staring contest at that, but he doesn’t pull your hand away. The wheels turning in his mind are almost visible as he searches your face and in the quiet of the room you can’t miss the incessant buzz of your phone. 

“You should get that,” he says, blue eyes shadowed with desire and indecision. You groan even though he’s right. You don’t want to check it but knowing your friends must be worried if they’re that insistent. You untangle yourself from him reluctantly, a soft smile playing at your lips when you tell him not to think too much before you get back. 

138 text messages, almost all from the group chat you have with your friends. When you open it they’re all pretty similar. 

**|| WHERE ARE YOU?  
** || Is this for real?  
|| You just got papped with Luke Hemmings  
|| wtf is this city?!  
|| DID YOU GO HOME WITH HIM  
|| hooooooly fuck 

There are a few pictures of you and your golden boy attached too, walking out of that shitty club with you on his arm and vomit on his shoes. You hoped no one would notice that second part, but you can feel your heart pounding double time as your brain kicks into high gear and you feel overwhelmingly stupid and impressed with yourself. 

You can’t believe you didn’t realize it before. The aching familiarity, the ocean blue eyes and lilting accent. Of course it was Luke Hemmings. A quick text and a few deep breaths later, you opened the bathroom door again, and felt the weight of the smile he gives you settle like the weight of the entire world in the pit of your stomach. 

“Luke” you breathe as you sit on the edge of the bed next to him, suddenly not feeling so confident. 

His laugh is easy as he shifts to sitting and sighs, “I’ve been found out. I guess you’re not that drunk anymore after all, huh?” 

You can’t stop staring at his face, his curls, his broad shoulders as you take him in in this new light, the one you should have seen but kept missing and your nerves are growing. You’re still topless, and so is he, you realize as you reach up self consciously to cover your breasts. He gently pulls your arm away, wry smile playing at his lips as he says, “And if you’re not that drunk anymore, then I guess I have no moral qualms with giving you what you asked for.” 

Then he’s kissing you, and this time, he doesn’t stop.


End file.
